The smell hit him first.
Rot. Garbage. Rusted iron.
Hope slowed.
The alley was narrow—too narrow. The kind people avoided without knowing why. A single flickering streetlight trembled above, its glow barely reaching the ground.
Then he heard it.
A sound that didn't belong.
Not footsteps.
Not laughter.
A broken breath.
Hope turned the corner.
And the world stopped.
Aira lay against the brick wall.
Her uniform was torn. Blood streaked down her thigh. Her eyes stared at nothing, wide and empty, as if whatever she'd been looking at had burned itself into her mind.
Five boys stood around her.
One laughed.
Another adjusted his belt.
A third noticed Hope.
"Hey—"
That was all he managed to say.
Something inside Hope went quiet.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Silence.
He stepped forward.
"Don't," one of them said, raising his hands. "You don't get it. She—"
Hope didn't answer.
The first boy lunged.
Hope met him halfway.
There was a sound—wet, dull—and the boy collapsed, choking on something that used to be his throat.
The others froze.
One screamed.
"W–Wait! We can talk—"
Hope grabbed him by the face and slammed his head into the wall.
Once.
Twice.
The wall cracked.
The screaming stopped.
Another tried to run.
Hope caught him.
Hands. Elbows. Knees.
No technique.
Only intent.
The boy fell. Didn't get back up.
The fourth one swung wildly.
Hope let the punch land.
Pain registered. Irrelevant.
He drove his fist into the boy's chest.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Something caved in.
The last boy backed away, tripping over garbage bags.
"N–No—please—she wanted it—she—"
Hope crouched in front of him.
Looked into his eyes.
"You don't deserve to live," he said quietly.
The boy sobbed.
Hope snapped his neck.
The alley went silent.
Hope turned.
Aira hadn't moved.
He approached slowly, every step heavier than the last.
"Aira," he said.
No response.
He knelt.
Her hands were shaking.
She finally looked at him.
For a moment, Hope thought she would scream.
She didn't.
"…You shouldn't have come," she whispered.
Hope swallowed.
"I'm here."
Her lips trembled.
"…You saw."
Hope nodded.
"I'm sorry," she said.
That broke something.
Hope shook his head. "No. Don't."
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Aira flinched.
"They'll—" She stopped. "They'll ruin everything."
Hope stood.
Blood dripped from his hands.
"I don't care."
Footsteps echoed.
Voices.
"Police! Don't move!"
Hope raised his hands.
Aira looked up at him, panic flooding her face.
"Hope—!"
He turned his head slightly.
Met her eyes.
"It's fine," he said.
The officers froze when they saw the bodies.
Some of them gagged.
One whispered, "What the hell…"
Hope lowered his hands.
"I killed them," he said calmly.
No pride.
No regret.
Just fact.
They tackled him to the ground.
Cold metal bit into his wrists.
As they dragged him away, Hope didn't resist.
He kept his eyes on Aira.
She was crying now.
Her mouth moved.
I'm sorry.
Hope blinked once.
The sirens grew louder.
Cameras flashed.
Someone shouted his name.
Hope closed his eyes.
As the world collapsed around him, a single thought surfaced—clear and unshaken.
I'd do it again.